Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Dead Deliveryman

By Galaxy1001D

Based off the story 'Murder is Corny' by Rex Stout

Additional material by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rex Stout

Chapter Two: Murder is Corny

"What?" I ejaculated. "But I don't even know this man Faber!" Holmes continued to laugh, but I wasn't amused. "This isn't funny!" I protested. "I know I have an alibi for the time of the murder, but this isn't funny! What about my reputation?"

"Lock up your doors, men of London," Holmes sniggered. "Doctor Watson is on the loose! He has a medical license, and he knows how to use it!"

"Will you quit it Holmes?" Lestrade snapped. "I swear that you'd joke at your own necktie party!" He returned his attention to me. "You! How well do you know Max Maslow?"

"This is preposterous!" I shook my head. "Why should I know anything about this man, Maslow? Would you care to connect it for me Inspector?"

"I'm investigating a murder, Doctor."

"So I gathered. And apparently I'm a suspect. Connect it, if you please."

"One item in Kenneth Faber's pockets was a little notebook," Lestrade said condescendingly. "One page had the names of four men written in pencil. Three of the names had checkmarks in front of them. The last one, no checkmark, was John Watson. The first one was Max Maslow. Will that do?"

"I'd rather see the notebook," I snorted.

"It's at the Yard." He assured me. "Look, Doctor, if your friend Sherlock Holmes can vouch for you, you have nothing to hide. Just answer my questions and we'll have this all straightened out in no time."

I nodded. "Very well. I don't know any Max Maslow and have never heard the name before. The other two names with checkmarks?"

"Peter Jay. J-A-Y."

"Don't know him and never heard of him."

"Carl Heydt." He spelled it.

"That's better. Couturier?"

"He makes clothes for women."

"Yes, I'm familiar with him," I nodded. "We sometimes play cards at my club."

"How well do you know him?"

"Not well at all. He served in Afghanistan during the war. We've shared some stories and some drinks. When I'm fortunate enough to have a lady friend I send some business his way."

"Do you know why his name would be in Faber's notebook with a checkmark?"

"I don't know and I couldn't guess."

"Do you want me to connect Susan McLeod before I ask you about her?"

"McLeod?" Sherlock Holmes interjected. "Dear me, it's a small world."

"She's Duncan McLeod's daughter isn't she?" I smiled coyly.

Lestrade was eying me. "You're never slow, are you, Doctor?"

I gave him a grin. "Slow as cold honey. But I try to keep up."

"Don't strain yourself," Lestrade warned me. "Doctor, just how long have you been intimate with the farmer's daughter?"

"Intimate!" I bristled under the insinuation. "There are several definitions for 'intimate,' Inspector. Which one?"

"You know very well which one."

"Dash it all, of all the cheek!" I sputtered. "If you mean the very worst, or the very best, depending on how you look at it, I'm afraid I have nothing to confess. She's a charming girl and all but I haven't seen much of her for almost a year. The last time I saw her was at a party somewhere a couple of weeks ago. I don't know who her escort was, but it wasn't me. As for my being intimate with her, meaning what you mean, I assure you that my intentions have been strictly honorable. What are you implying Inspector?"

"A great deal. You got her a job with that Carl Heydt. You found her a place to live, a flat that happens to be only six blocks from here."

I cocked my head at him. "Where did you get that? From Carl Heydt?"

"No. From her."

"Blast!" Mycroft exclaimed as he set the last ear of corn on his desk. When he and Sherlock finished they had three piles, as assorted by Mycroft. Two ears were too young, six were too old, and eight were just right. He returned to his chair, looked at Lestrade, and declared, "This is preposterous!"

"Are you also a character witness for Doctor Watson?" Lestrade asked him.

"What?" Brother Mycroft waved him off. "No, of course not, but I really think you're wasting your time with the good doctor. Shall I expound it?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"Since you have questioned men at the restaurant, you know that the corn comes from a man named Duncan McLeod, who grows it on a farm some sixty miles north of here. He has been supplying it for four years, and he knows precisely what I require. It must be nearly mature, but not quite, and it must be picked not more than three hours before it reaches me. Do you eat sweet corn?"

"On occasion," Lestrade shrugged. "What of it?"

"No," Mycroft shook his head. "Who cooks it?"

"My wife. Who else?"

"Does she cook it in water?"

"Sure. Is yours cooked in champagne?"

"No. Millions of women, and some men, commit that outrage every summer day. They are turning a superb treat into mere provender. Shucked and boiled in water, sweet corn is edible and nutritious; roasted in the husk in the hottest possible oven for forty minutes, shucked at the table, and buttered and salted, nothing else, it is ambrosia. No chef's ingenuity and imagination have ever created a finer dish. Those who do so should themselves be boiled in water. Ideally the corn - "

"I beg your pardon Mister Holmes, but can we get back to Doctor Watson?"

"You can forget about Doctor Watson," Mycroft waved a flipperlike hand in dismissal. "Ideally the corn should go straight from the stalk to the oven, but of course that's impractical for city dwellers. If it's picked at the right stage of development it is still a treat for the palate after twenty-four hours, or even forty-eight; I have tried it. But look at this." Mycroft pointed to the assorted piles. "This is preposterous. Mr. McLeod knows better. The first year I had him send two dozen ears, and I returned those that were not acceptable. He knows what I require, and he knows how to choose it without opening the husk. He is supposed to be equally meticulous with the supply for the restaurant, but I doubt if he is; they take fifteen to twenty dozen. Are they serving what they got today?"

"Yes," the inspector nodded. "They've admitted that they took it from the wagon even before they reported the body. If it's all right can we get back to the murder please?"

I expected Sherlock Holmes to join in the conversation, but he had become a silent observer. He was frowning rather curiously at his brother when he should have been frowning at Lestrade.

"Now then, Doctor Watson, let's get back to your relationship with Susan McLeod," Inspector Lestrade said in a predatory tone.

"What relationship?" I shrugged helplessly. "We saw each other, usually with a chaperone, but it didn't get anywhere. I admit that she's the most attractive model that Carl Heydt has working for him, and that she is the kindest and most pleasant person you could hope to meet, but she's as scatterbrained as any hatter in Bedlam. The one time I kissed her, she actually said 'I saw a horse kiss a cow once.' You never know what that girl is going to say because she doesn't know herself. Top it off despite her shapely ankles, she dances like a horse with a hobbled leg. Fortunately any 'relationship' we might have had was easy to break off because she never acknowledged that we started one in the first place."

"Egad," Sherlock Holmes murmured. "You dodged the bullet that time old boy. If you weren't careful she could have become Missus John Watson!"

"Anything else?" I asked the inspector.

"Plenty," Lestrade sneered at me. "When and how did you find out that Kenneth Faber had shoved you aside and taken Miss McLeod over?"

"What?" I gasped. "I wasn't shoved aside! I wasn't even in line!"

"Objection!" Holmes cried as he rose and melodramatically turned to Mycroft. "M'lord, I object to the question on the ground that it is insulting, impertinent, and disgusticulous! It assumes not only that my colleague Doctor Watson is shovable but also that he can be shoved out of a place he has never been!"

"Objection sustained." A corner of Mycroft's mouth was up a little as he thumped his desk. "You will rephrase the question, Mr. Lestrade."

"Like blazes I will." Lestrade's eyes kept at me. "You might as well open up, Doctor. We have a signed statement from her. What passed between you and Faber when he was in town last week?"

"Nothing," I shook my head helplessly. "I didn't know him! You're off your chum! Honestly, I never met the man!"

"You have a minute to get your hat, Doctor," he ordered. "We need to go down to the yard."

"Now listen." I turned a palm up in a halting gesture. "I told you where I was and have Holmes' word to back it! What did that woman say about me that has you so riled up against me?"

"The minute's up. Come on."

It was then that Holmes spoke up. Surprisingly it was not Sherlock who intervened but Mycroft. "Inspector Lestrade, I must confess that I am dumfounded by your fatuity. You have my brother's statement and can get that of his landlady and yet you insist on taking a guest from my house after the most cursory of investigations. You were so bent on baiting Doctor Watson that you completely ignored the point I was at pains to make." He pointed at the piles on his desk. "Who picked that corn?"

"That's your point Mister Holmes," Lestrade rasped. "Mine is who killed Kenneth Faber. Move, Doctor."

Next: Susan McLeod